


Dig a Bit Deeper

by thatpepsilad



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Additional Character Cameos, Anxiety, Budding Love, Fluff and Humor, Light Angst, M/M, Recovery, Trans Yuri Plisetsky, i cant believe im writing fanfics in the year of our lord 2017, psa this binch knows nothing of ice skating this has been a learning curve for me
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-03-28
Updated: 2017-06-08
Packaged: 2018-10-12 03:54:27
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 14,809
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10481508
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thatpepsilad/pseuds/thatpepsilad
Summary: It's January 2018, and The Pyeongchang Winter Olympics are looming. Yuri Plisetsky has enough on his plate already without having to deal with anyone else's problems. So when Katsuki disappears for a week, he takes it upon himself to nip this drama in the bud and drag his friend home...(Rating and tags are subject to change, and updates will be sporadic!)





	1. Chapter 1

"Come back."

" I can't."

The silence was something awful. Yura huffed, scowling around him before letting his gaze fall back upon the man he was trying to drag back to St. Petersburg.

It had been little over two years since Yuuri had won silver at the Grand Prix. In 2017 he has finally worked his way to a gold, with Yura himself in close second and Viktor just behind. Yura supposed that was when his friend's anxiety had begun to get worse again, and the Grand Prix just gone spoke for that.

Yuuri had bombed at the last minute, flubbing too many of his jumps, and missing his combination in his free skate. That had been the worst- Yura remembered seeing him nail that perfectly so many times during practise. It wasn't his worst year, for certain, and it didn't come close to JJ's crushing defeat back in 2016, either, but it was enough.

Yura studied Yuuri, as they stood there in the hard frozen snow. The formers face seemed to have frozen too, into a stiff smile that in the past had been only reserved for strangers and over-excited fans.

A window above then opened with a chunk, and a small sheet of snow plopped onto the ground next to them. Yuuri sighed and shifted to move, as a small apology was called out by the woman above them.

“Would you like to come in?” Yuuri asked, the formality quiet, his voice muffled by his scarf.

Before Yura could answer, Yuuri had moved to the reception door and was holding it open for him.

The hotel that Yura had found him in was small, but no less homely. The warm tungsten lights in the low hanging ceiling of the reception helped take the chill out of the atmosphere somewhat, and Yura could feel himself beginning to relax a little. Surveying his surroundings, he noted a dark green sofa, and a well stocked magazine rack, before Yuuri’s stilted Russian brought his attention back to the matter at hand.

“I would like to book one room for my friend, please.” He was trying his best, and Yura noted that it had gotten a little better since the last they saw each other.

“Hey, Katsudon, I'm not _staying_!” Yura interjected, stalking over, “please ignore him, he is meant to be checking out.”

“You can't just leave this instant; it's getting late. I don't even know how you got here.” Yuuri had switched back to English again, frowning.

“Otabek is outside,” Yura replied, teeth gritted, “and he's getting cold. So hurry up and grab your shit-”

“Ah, sorry, please make that one double room-”

“What? No!”

“Oh, sorry, a twin. You know, I don't think they mind it here, Yurio-”

“Katsuki, I swear-”

“It's okay, you can always push the beds together. Go and get Otabek; I'll wait here.”

“We're not dating, you idiot.” He huffed, knowing he wouldn't win, and yanked the outside door back open.

Stomping over to the car park, he noted Otabek had killed the engine on his rental bike and was stood against it, fiddling on his phone. He looked up as he heard the approaching angry footsteps.

“Ah, Yura, look at this post-” he held up his phone for the other to see, but was snubbed.

“Show me later. We're staying the night.”

“Oh. I take it this is Katsuki’s idea.” It wasn't a question.

“Mm.” Yura grunted an affirmation and started unbuckling his side of Otabek’s saddlebags. His fingers had started to stiffen up from the cold, so he wasn't doing very well, and his frustration was building.

“Ugh. Beka?”

Otabek unbuckled the whole thing and slung it over his shoulders, pocketing his phone beforehand.

“Lead the way.”

Yuuri welcomed them back in and handed them their room key. A small, but nonetheless polite greeting was exchanged between Yuuri and Otabek, before they moved through the hotel.

“So… how did you find me?” Yuuri asked, not through curiosity it seemed, but just to break the silence as they climbed the stairs. In fact, Yura felt he could almost sense a tinge of annoyance in there. Despite that, he couldn't help but laugh.

“Are you serious? You tagged the location on one of your angsty photos!”

“Angsty photos?”

“Yes? On your instagram?" He fumbled with his phone, cursing with the slow connection as Yuuri’s profile loaded. “There.”

Yuuri began to laugh.

“Just because it's in black and white, it doesn't mean it's angsty,” by now they had reached the room. “Anyway, here- you're next door to me.”

Otabek dropped the saddlebags in front of the door and waited patiently for Yura to finish.

“Listen, Katsudon,” he grumbled, “I appreciate the room, but you need to come home tomorrow okay? We'll call Viktor, get him to meet us. Three can't fit on Beka’s bike, so…”

Yuuri looked awkward, and Yura caught it.

“What, you can't even face your own husband? Are you kidding me?!”

“That's not it, I-”

“You what? Do you know how upset he is? He misses you! The fucking dog, too! They both just sit on the sofa all day, sighing while Viktor texts everyone. He hasn't done the dishes since you left!”

“He doesn't do the dishes anyway.” Yuuri tried, voice quiet.

“That's not my point! How could you just leave him? No messages, nothing, but you can still post a god damned picture of- what even is that, hotel soap?” He paused to look at the photo again. “Fucking hotel soap. You can post a picture of some shitty soap, but not message your friends. And now _I_ have to call _your_ husband, drag his sorry ass from practise-”

At that point, Yuuri’s hotel door opened, and a very sleep bedraggled Viktor peered out. Yura was stunned.

“Are you fucking kidding me?”

“Yurio, why are you shouting?” Viktor leant against the door frame, rubbing his face, “I was having a nap.”

Yura wondered for a split second why he was so surprised. He just stared at the two in disbelief, while Otabek pried the hotel key from his hand.

“Are you two _actually_ fucking kidding me?” He repeated, almost growling.

Katsuki looked like he might cry, and began trying to push his idiot of a husband back into their room.

“Please go back inside-! Please! Yurio is mad! Why didn't you text him?!”

“Oh, I was supposed to?”

“ _Yes!_ Yes, you were! Once you left the rink-!”

“Oh. Oh!” Viktor laughed. “I guess I forgot. I'm sorry, Yurio. You know, thinking about it, I should have really told Yakov, too, so…” he looked at his husband, then Yura, and then over to Otabek, who had now got the hotel room open and was just about to hurriedly carry the bags in. “Ah, hi, Otabek.”

“It's good to see you, Nikiforov.”

“I didn't know you were in Russia. Are you staying long?”

“He's here until February,” Yura interjected, teeth gritted, “and stop using my friend to get out of the line of fire.”

“Oh, just friend?” Viktor asked, his head tilted to one side, his shit-stirring smile beginning to creep across his face.

“Yes! Shut up! You do this with all my friends!”

“I thought Otabek was your only friend?” Viktor was going in for the kill tonight, apparently.

“Shut _up!_ ” Was again, all Yura could think to hiss as he ushered Otabek through the door, slamming it behind him.

He turned to see Otabek struggling to keep a straight face.

“Don't you start, or I swear to God, Altin-”

The man shrugged, and turned away, but Yura caught the grin as it formed and swatted at the back of his friend’s head gently.

“You dick, I said don't start.”

“Am I really your only friend?”

“No! I'm friends with those two idiots, too, although right now I'm seriously considering otherwise. And don't forget Mila! Even though she still throws me about.”

“Aren't you taller than her, now?”

“Yes, but I swear to God, that woman is possessed. How else would she have that strength yet still look so tiny? I bet she secretly works out by bench pressing cars.”

“You mean, you don't?” Otabek crossed the room and hung his jacket on the back of a chair. “I can lift my bike with one hand.”

“Oh, sure,” Yura rolled his eyes, “and I can do press ups with my pinkie.”

He flopped onto one of the beds while Otabek made his way into the en-suite. It was comfy, he noted, even if it did look like an old lady had decorated it. There were floral prints everywhere, and the decoration was a single painting featuring a cat sat next to a jug of hyacinths. That was bolted to the wall none too lovingly. The cat he liked, but he could give or take the flowers- they were painted in a blue that was a little too harsh for his tastes. He rolled over to look out the window, and saw it had started to snow again. Begrudgingly, he accepted that Katsuki was probably right. Driving back this late in the day would have been dangerous. Even if the imminent nightfall wasn't a factor, motorcycling in the snow didn't sound as fun as it would have looked badass to the passerby.

He heard the chain flush and the sound of water running. A second later he looked up as Otabek re-entered the room.

“Do you have a charger?” Yura asked, not moving.

“Uh, I should do. Did you check your bag?”

“Does it look like I've moved at all?” Yura snorted. “I don't even think I brought one. It's not like I was planning to stay the night at some weird hotel.”

“I think it's nice,” Otabek offered.

“What, the hotel?”

“Yeah. That soap really is something.”

“Fuck off about the soap. It's what got us here in the first place. What kind of an idiot disappears for a week, says he wants to be alone, and then broadcasts to like, a thousand people that he's in some hotel barely two hours from St. Petersburg?”

“Mm. Maybe he just needed a holiday.”

“Yeah, maybe, but not without Viktor. Let alone Makkachin.”

“So, he was getting lonely,” Otabek rummaged around in his bag and brought out his phone charger, and threw it over to Yura. “Although, Viktor knew where he was anyway.”

“Honestly, the more I try to understand what goes on in the heads of those two, the more confused I get.” He sat up to catch it, unravelled the cable and hung over the bed to search for a socket.

“Then don't.”

He heard Otabek sit down on his own bed.

“What?” He asked, sitting up and then hitting his head on the corner of the bedside table and yelping.

“Well done,” the other laughed, “but seriously. Why do you have to understand a person to be friends with them?”

Yura slipped to the floor, clutching his head.

“Don't life-lesson me when I'm in pain, idiot, I'm dying.”

“You're not dying.”

“Yes I am! You've never hit your head like this, ‘cause you came out of the womb wearing a bike helmet!”

“You're so melodramatic. You never complain like this when you fall at practise.”

“That's because the ice made me a man.”

“I thought your testosterone did that?”

Yuratchka sat up and shot a glare over the bed at Otabek.

“You shut your face, Altin. I was a man before that, too, you know.”

“I know,” Otabek smiled, “I'm sorry. That joke was in poor taste.”

“You bet it was, fucker.” Yura threw a pillow at his head. “Anyway, I'm going to go and get some food before my brains leak from my ears. Do you want anything?”

“Mm. Piroshki.”

“There's more to eat in Russia than piroshki,” he muttered, standing up and heading to the door. “What if there isn't any?”

“Guess I'll die.” Otabek shrugged.

“And _I'm_ melodramatic.” He opened the door to the hotel hall and turned to shut it. “Let me back in?”

“Will do,” Otabek affirmed, and Yura shut the door with a click.


	2. Chapter 2

A familiar pair of arms slipped around his waist, and Yuuri sighed. He leant his head back onto Viktor’s shoulder and let himself be pulled onto the bed.

“How are you feeling?”

“Stressed,” Yuuri admitted, “I feel I've just made one problem into a much bigger one.”

“Well, you didn’t need to run away like that. Even though you told me where you were going.” There was an audible smile in his voice.

Yuuri turned around and snuggled in closer, sinking his face into the crook of Viktor’s neck. He grunted quietly, feeling guilt and anxiety thrash about in the pit of his stomach. There was silence then, for a moment. Viktor’s hand had made its way into Yuuri’s hair and was softly brushing through it. Eyes squeezed shut, Yuuri tried not to think. He focused on his breathing, on Viktor, and on the steady rhythm of Viktor’s fingers at the nape of his neck. This affection was telling him one thing, but his mind another.  Eventually, he could only hear one intrusive thought.

_ He resents you. _

Head feeling it might burst, Yuuri tried so, so hard to keep his tears in. But no matter how long he held his breath, or how tightly he clung to Viktor, they still bullied their way to the surface. He felt the stroking in his hair stop as his tears plummeted from his cheeks onto Viktor’s collarbone.

“Ah,  _ lyubimaya _ , what’s wrong?” Viktor had pulled away and was holding Yuuri’s shoulders.

Yuuri curled up, covering his face, letting the sobs wrack his body now. His mind was a turmoil of shame. God, he had been doing so  _ well _ ! He hadn't cried like this in years, and it was torture to accept that he had slipped back down to this level again. After all the support and love he had received from everyone, here he was, crying like a child in his husbands arms. Yuuri was back on that precipice, trying to regain his balance and find himself again. Never had he felt so alone, wrapped in his husbands arms, yet not being able to connect his mind with his body. Viktor pulled him in closer, but that only made him cry harder.

“Yuuri, it’s okay,” Viktor was pressing soft kisses to the top if his head, “You’re okay, my love, you’re allowed to cry.”

Sniffling, Yuuri let himself look up at the other, but the room had fallen into gloomy darkness, rendering Viktor’s face unreadable. That was the problem with the snow, he reflected. Yuuri hated the way its clouds blanketed the sunset, turning dusk into a murky grey. The mood had changed though, and a calm settled over them both. Moving slowly, Yuuri shifted his head so that it lay on Viktor’s chest, eyes fluttering shut. 

“Can you hear my heart beat, Yuuri?” Viktor murmured, hands drifting across his cheeks, brushing at the tears.

Taking deep, shuddering breaths, Yuuri let himself still. Viktor’s heart was steady and strong, so he began to time his breaths to match his husbands. Those caring hands has made their way into his hair again

“Viktor…” Yuuri eventually spoke, his voice barely above a whisper “do you still… do you still love me?”   
  
Viktor stopped, for a moment. 

“What…?”

“After… all of this. After all I put you through.” Yuuri was picking his words carefully, trying to straighten out a cacophony of thoughts. 

“You can’t stop your anxiety, Yuuri.”   
  
“That’s not what I mean.”

Feeling Viktor shift, Yuuri lifted his head slightly, and then replaced it once Viktor had gotten comfortable.

“Then, is this about the Finals?” he heard, and he nodded stiffly in reply.

“I let you down. I let my thoughts get the better of me. I didn’t-” he swallowed to stop his voice cracking, “I should have just-”

A kiss was pressed to his forehead as Viktor rolled over, cradling Yuuri in his arms. 

“You haven’t let me down, Yuuri. Is this why you ran away?”

Yuuri opened his eyes to check if Viktor was mad; the other’s voice was too soft to read. He felt tears prickling again as he found anything but anger radiating from the other. Lifting his hand through the darkness, he let his fingertips trace over the creases in Viktor's furrowed brow, sniffing back a tide of emotion.

“I’m so sorry.” Yuuri’s voice was wavering again as he cried. “I just keep causing you all this worry-”

“Have you been holding all of this in since December?” Viktor was speaking gently, but wasn’t able to disguise the soft incredulity in the question. “You could have talked about this at home, you know. I’m always going to listen.”

“But that’s just the problem! I can’t talk to you about things at home, and I just don’t know why. Everything is so perfect, living with you, and even Yurio when he visits! It’s so perfect that I don’t want to ruin it by talking about my problems as if they should be yours, as well.” He took a deep breath, trying to compose himself, but failing. “You’re always so selfless with me, and patient, and I feel like I’ve thrown it all back in your face by not working hard enough at the finals!”

“Yuuri…” Viktor sighed, taking Yuuri’s left hand and interlacing their fingers, “We’re married, remember? You can always talk to me about your problems, and it will never ruin anything. I  _ love _ you, silly.”

A kiss was pressed to Yuuri’s ring finger, and he sniffed and nodded. They heard a muffled shout come from next door, but chose to ignore it as another lull settled over them. Wiping his eyes, Yuuri decided he felt better for crying.

“Viktor… talk to me about something…?”

“Hmm?”

“Anything. Just let me…” He looked away, feeling stupidly shy. The two of them had been intimate for years, so he didn’t understand why he chose now, of all times, to turn bashful. “I just want to listen to you for a while.”

“Ah, well, let me see,” Yuuri heard the smile blossom back into Viktor’s voice, and snuggled in closer. “Today at practise, Giorgio brought his girlfriend along again.”   
  
“Oh, how was that?” 

“Just like last time. Do you remember?”

“He tried to jump a quad from standstill, right?” Yuuri laughed gently.

“Yeah, Yakov was not impressed! I think he still has a bruise from the first time, too, but that didn’t stop him. You know, from where he landed on his foot…”

Viktor was continuing his tale, however by now Yuuri was focusing less on the words that Viktor was saying, and more on how they were said- the way each word rumbled through his chest, accompanied by a slow rise and fall as the other breathed. Viktor’s other hand had found its way back into Yuuri’s hair, yet again, and was tracing circles against the nape of his neck. Moving to burrow his head in the nape of Viktor’s neck, Yuuri breathed in and grounded himself. He could smell the light, powdery scent that always graced his husband’s skin like a sweet charm. His reverie was broken as Viktor moved on to talk about Yakov, his attention snapping to Viktor’s gruff voice impression.

“‘Stop slacking, Vitya! Get off your phone!’ Blah, blah, Yakov, you don’t understand. I must send photos of me at practise to my lonely husband-!”

“Mm. Viktor?”   
  
“Ah, sorry Yuuri. Is everything okay?”

“Yes, I just…” He took a deep breath, then sat up and switched on the bedside lamp. “As my  _ coach _ , were you disappointed?”

Another silence drifted down as Viktor, too, sat up, blinking in the sudden flood of light. Yuuri knew he was thinking how best to phrase a response- Viktor definitely wasn’t the type to sugarcoat.

“As your coach… yes.” Came the eventual reply, and Yuuri felt a little crestfallen. 

Viktor swallowed, then continued.

“As your coach, yes,” he repeated, “but that was because I know what you are capable of.”

Yuuri looked away, but Viktor took his chin and tilted his head up to make eye contact. 

“But as your friend, and lover,” Viktor’s eyes shone in the lamplight, and Yuuri felt his stomach flip despite himself as the other spoke, ”I couldn’t be more proud.”

“What? No, I  _ failed _ -”

“You did your best, Yuuri, and you kept going. I could  _ see _ you trying so hard, going in and doing the best you can, even though…” Viktor reached up and brushed the hair from Yuuri’s face, “Even though your mind got in the way, and even though you could have so easily given up.”

“At least you got gold this time,” Yuuri replied wryly, looking away. He took the hand and pressed a kiss to it.

Viktor paused, and Yuuri looked up at him, then shrank back when he saw the other’s expression. 

“Is that what that was about?” Viktor’s voice was quiet.

“What? No, I-”

“You did that on purpose? After all that work?”

“ _ No _ ! No! I just couldn’t stop  _ thinking.  _ I wanted to make you proud, but at the same time I wanted you to have what I know you deserve! You’re a  _ six times _ champion now. I couldn’t face the thought of you underachieving to make me look better. I felt so  _ guilty _ last year! Even though you were so gracious!”

Yuuri saw Viktor’s face shift to confusion, and he allowed himself an inward sigh of relief.

“You… you worry so much, Yuuri.” Viktor spoke, finally. “Of  _ course _ I want you to win the gold; I don’t care where I place. But that never stops me from going out and doing my best. It’s just happened that that year, the year you won gold? Your best was, well,  _ better _ -”

“No, Viktor, I don’t want to compare us like that,” Yuuri interjected, “I can’t. It’s not fair.”

“How so?”

Yuuri shot him a look, trying to determine if Viktor was just fishing for compliments, but softened when he saw he was being genuine. 

“Because I love you.”   
  
“I love you too, Yuuri.”

“I know you do. But listen, Vitya,” Viktor melted at the nickname, just like Yuuri knew he would, so he continued,  “It’s just that. I love you more than the ice. I hate this… conflict I feel, every time I’m on the leaderboard higher than you. It makes me wonder if you resent me.”

There was a low chuckle.

“Yuuri, you beat me  _ once _ .”

“That’s not my point. Once was enough.”   
  
“So, what? You retire, and become a stay at home husband?” Ears pricking up to it, Yuuri heard the smile seeping into Viktor’s voice again. “You cook and clean, while I am at practise with our Little Yuri?”

“Mm,” he agreed, “and you will sit at the table with your pipe and newspaper while I bother about in my frilly apron.”

“Do you have those hair tubes in, in this scenario?” Viktor laughed.

“ _ Hair tubes _ ?”

“Yes. What are they in English, oh God…”

“Hair curlers?” Yuuri giggled, “Like the launderette ladies in the movies?”

“Yes! Those!” Viktor clicked his fingers, beaming. “In bright blue, all over your head. Just like a little old lady.”

That was it, then. Laughter that was swelling in his chest erupted, pushing out all the stress and tension. 

“The only one who would ever wear hair curlers is  _ you _ , Nikiforov,” Yuuri snorted, planting a kiss on his husband’s forehead, “You’re so fussy with your hair.”

“Fussy?! It’s not easy, looking this good!” He struck a pose, hands framing his face. “I’m getting old, Yuuri, I need to maintain myself to keep up with you youngsters.”   
  
“30 is not old,” Yuuri chastised, taking his hands down and holding them in his lap, “and we’re only four years apart. Stop being such a diva.”   
  
“I just can’t help it, Yuuri; it’s all the years of glitter on my outfits! Did you know that when you wear glitter, it gets absorbed into your soul? It’s going to happen to you, too, and we’ll be two old divas, living our glamorous lives until we retire.” He leant forward for a kiss, and Yuuri complied, but stopped himself after a small moment.

“I need sleep, Vi,” he murmured into his lips, and felt the pout form.

“Aw, but Yuuri…!” he whined, “I drove all this way-!”

“It was an hour and forty-five-”

“I drove  _ all _ this way,” he insisted, as if it were a miracle he had performed, “and also, I missed you.”

“Hah. Well, I’m sure you can miss me until the morning.” 

With that, he pressed another kiss to Viktor’s lips, then flopped back down. Viktor laughed and turned off the light before laying back down beside him and wrapping him in a soft, feathery embrace.

“You’re so mean,” Viktor smiled into the nape of Yuuri’s neck, gently pulling the blankets up over them.

“ _ You’re _ the one who waited so long before marrying me.”

“Aha, but you had to win the gold first. It was all worth the wait, though.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. And now I get to see you win it again this year, right?”

He meant that as encouragement, but Yuuri felt that stab of guilt yet again. Moments passed, but felt like an eternity.

“Viktor, I…” Yuuri started, but stopped when he heard soft snoring coming from behind him. Sighing, he shuffled until his head nestled in the crook of Viktor’s neck. “Goodnight, Vitya.”

He didn’t sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A small russian translation for you all:
> 
> Lyubimaya: my love/beloved
> 
> To any Russian speaking readers out there, please let me know if i use any words incorrectly! I’m English with only Google Translate at my disposal so I am always happy to receive any corrections ^^; 
> 
> Thank you again for staying with me through this chapter!


	3. Chapter 3

Morning had been and gone by the time Yura woke. A chill in the room and loud scraping from outside snapped him out of his slumber far too quickly for his liking. 

“Beka,” he grumbled, “close the fucking window.”

Cracking one eye open, he sighed in exasperation as he saw his friend leaning on the windowsill, staring out. Bundling his blankets about him like a cloak, he shuffled over to the armchair and kicked it over to the window, being sure to make as much noise as possible. Otabek didn’t react, though. Yura knew he was used to this. Plopping down in the chair and watching his friend groggily, Yura tried to remember his dream.

“Sleep well?” Otabek asked, head tilting to follow whatever he was watching. From the commotion outside, he deducted it was last night’s snowfall being shoveled away by some poor soul.

“Yes, now shut up,” he mumbled, “I’m trying to think.”

Otabek grunted a short laugh. 

“That’s dangerous.”

A bitter breeze pushed its way through the window, and Yura shivered despite the blankets. 

“I can close the window, if you’d like.” Beka offered, noticing.

“No, it’s okay. It’s waking me up.” He paused, then laughed. “You were in my dream last night.”

Otabek turned and wiggled his eyebrows.

“Oh, really?”

“Pfft. Don’t flatter yourself, Beka. You weren’t the only one in it.”

“I don’t need to know what you’re into this early in the morning.”

“It’s  _ noon _ , you creep,” he swatted at the back of his leg, “shut up and let me talk.”

“Okay. So, what happened?”

“This is stupid. I was… falling,” he recalled, “and it was dark.”

“That’s very Evanescence.”

Yura cracked an eye open and growled, much to Otabek’s amusement. 

“Let me  _ finish _ , asshole! That’s not all of it.”

“I know. But I’m only interested in how I was involved.”

“Of course you are. Anyway, so I was falling, but suddenly it was all light.” He peered over to see if his friend had stopped listening, but was pleased to find otherwise. “You know the planets?”

“I am familiar with them, yes.”

“Ugh. Stop. Anyway, you know how some of them are just, big balls of gas or whatever, and they’re basically a huge planet of almost nothing.”

“Mm. Like Jupiter.”

“Yes! Like that. Well,” he closed his eyes again, trying to pin the now scattering memories, “I think I was… falling through them? Right down the middle. And I couldn’t figure out which one it was. It kept shifting.”

Yura’s lack of skill with words started to make itself apparent to him. In his head, he could just about visualise how the clouds in his dream had an almost sand-like quality, careening and morphing in an intangible wind. How, when he reached out to touch one, it would fold about his hand like satin before dissipating and joining the others in their unified, dance-like vortex. It was so serene, he realised, and peaceful. It… felt so foreign to him, that feeling of calm. His life was usually a whirlwind of practise and forcing himself to be a socialite for the sake of his fans. Maybe he was working himself too hard? Deciding to ignore that thought, he opened his mouth to continue his retelling, but no descriptives came to mind.

“You know what, never mind.” He moved to get up, but Otabek stopped him.

“No, it sounds nice. Go on.”

Sending him a quizzical look, he slowly sat back down.

“Okay. But I’m no poet,” he warned, “so if it sounds like a load of childish crap, then don’t be surprised.”

He tried to describe the sensation of falling, how his limbs felt heavy yet chest light. And how he realised that he probably should have been panicked, but just couldn’t bring himself to care. He was largely in the back seat for this dream, so he let himself stay there to see what it was the dream wanted to show him. Constantly cringing inwardly at how his vocalising of the experience contorted the experience into some cliché, Yura desperately wanted to stop. But between Otabek’s attentiveness and his own tenacity, he found the will to keep going. Additionally, a small part of him was loathe to forgetting the experience altogether, and the best way to recall a dream was to talk it out, he found. Lounging back in the armchair, he told Beka of how, once he had realised he was in the center of the planets, he noted that he was not alone. 

“Is this where I come in?” Beka asked. 

“Sort of. I could  _ feel _ you there with me, but not see you.”

“Oh no. Was I dead?”

“No, you moron. Why would you be dead?” Beka shrugged, and Yura rolled his eyes. “Anyway, like I said, it wasn’t just you. It was like everyone was there, but all at different times.”

“Who can you remember?”

“Well, when the clouds were dusty and red, I felt you. And it was comforting.” He admitted, but then bristled when he looked over to see fondness on the other’s face. “Shut up.”

“I didn’t say anything.”

“You don’t  _ have _ to,” he fumed, “ _ Anyway _ . It changed to blue and white and then I could feel Mila, and Yakov. Even Pork Cutlet and Viktor.”

“How about you grandfather?”

“What are you, a shrink?” he shot over, “Listen, and you’ll find out. But no, he wasn’t. I think that’s a good thing, though. With everyone else it felt like I had to do something, like there was a sense of urgency or whatever. Everything is good with Grandpa.”

“So, what do you think it was telling you to do?”

“Clearly fling myself out into the fucking solar system, Altin. How the hell should I know?”

Otabek laughed.

“You would make one angry asteroid. Your craters would be painted like leopard print.”

“You say that like a joke, but a leopard print asteroid hurtling into space would be undeniably cool.”

“In the 80s, maybe.”

“Says the guy who dresses like he’s auditioning for a college production of Grease. Anyway, I don’t have to _do_ anything. Everyone knows dreams are just a load of shit.”

“You never remember your dreams though,” Otabek pointed out, finally closing the window, “It could be important.”

“That doesn’t make any sense. You  _ always _ remember your dreams in weirdly vivid detail, even the stupid ones. That doesn’t make them special.”

“Maybe the stupid ones have meaning, too,” Yura watched him walk over to the mirror bolted opposite the beds. “I need a shave. Did you bring a razor?”

“Reese Witherspoon fighting a cookie literally has no meaning, Beka. You  _ know _ dreams are utter bullshit.” Fully awake, and satisfied with his dream retelling, Yura hauled himself from the armchair. 

“That was honestly the one time I had a dream that defied all understanding. Do you have a razor or no?”

“No, of course I don’t. Go ask Katsuki.”

“Mm, no, I’ll live. I think we might be leaving soon, anyway.”

While Otabek’s back was turned, Yura threw the blankets back onto the bed haphazardly and yanked back on hit t-shirt from yesterday. It didn’t smell all that pleasant from where he had sweat during practise, but at this point he couldn’t care less. Taking a moment before pulling on his sweats, Yura let himself admire how thick the hair on his legs had become. Whereas previously it had been a soft down of white-blonde, since starting T it had begun growing in thicker and wiry.

A knock at the door all too quickly brought Yura back to the moment at hand, and he jumped into the soft fleece while Otabek answered. It was only one of two people who it could be, so Yura let his face slip back into a scowl. 

“Ah, hey, so we were thinking of heading off in a little while.” It was Viktor speaking. That bastard. Yura made a mental note to give him a proper earful about hiding Yuuri’s whereabouts later.

“We don’t have much to pack, so we can leave whenever suits you.”

Yura peered behind Viktor to look at Yuuri. He seemed chipper enough, despite the huge shadows under his eyes. Something was still off, though. Yura could practically feel the nerves washing off the man in waves. 

The four of them stood in the doorway awkwardly.

“So, I guess we’ll see you outside!” Viktor’s stupid forced enthusiasm hadn’t faded. Yura could tell he was putting it on for his husband’s sake. 

It wasn’t a hard task to pack up all their things and check out. Viktor and Yuuri had already footed the bill by the time they had reached the reception, which was appreciated. They left the building to see the two in conversation, stood beside Viktor’s pristine Audi. Yura couldn’t quite believe he hadn’t noticed it the night before, the thing was so flashy. Only a man as flamboyant as Viktor would buy a convertible in Russia. Although, Yura supposed that his attention had been fixated elsewhere, so he cut himself a little slack before he, again, got upset at how convoluted this whole situation was becoming. 

At a glance, Yura could see that Katsuki was not looking forward to the journey home. Otabek voiced Yuri’s thoughts. 

“Is this a good idea?” 

“He still doesn’t look right,” Yura agreed, but just as he was about to speak again, Nikiforov saw them and waved.

“What’s the plan? Back to ours?” Viktor called as they trudged over. 

“Beka needs to stop for fuel on the way, but yeah, obviously.”

“Alright. We’ll see you there.” Yuuri spoke, with no real emotion in his voice. “I think Vitya wants to get there quickly-”

“Makka has been left alone all night! So we best get back and walk him.”

A couple of awkward goodbyes were exchanged, and the pair watched as Viktor’s tail lights slid off down the road. A sharp gust picked up and bullied its way through Yura’s jacket, making him shiver. 

“You ready?” Beka asked over his shoulder as he headed to the bike.

In no time, the saddlebags were reattached, and Yura had buckled his helmet and mounted behind Otabek. It was a nice bike, for a rental, he reflected as the engine came to life with a hearty purr. Undoubtedly, there was always a thrill in riding as Beka’s passenger. Butterflies still lurched in Yura’s stomach every time they pulled away, and this time was no different. 

After possibly a good half hour of riding, Otabek pulled into a service station to refuel. It had begun to lightly snow again, but they were about to hit the main road which would be mercifully gritted. As such, they found themselves in no real hurry. While Otabek stood with the fuel pump, Yura took off his helmet, flipping his head upside down and shaking out his hair. Righting himself, he caught the glance that Otabek sent his way.

“What?” He demanded, cheeks reddening.

“Oh, nothing,” Beka turned away again, flustered, “your hair just looks nice.”

“Hah, really? It’s so greasy, and the helmet-” he caught himself. “...Thanks, though.”

The fuel pump clunked off, and Beka cleared his throat as he headed into the station to pay.

“You want anything?”

“Nah. I’ll eat when we’re home.” Yura replied, pulling out his phone.

While he waited, he scrolled through his various feeds, finding nothing of interest. Giving up, he stared across the forecourt, watching the snow as it began to cling to the road. The swirling patterns of white started to remind him of his dream, so he dragged his eyes away, not wanting to dwell. 

Upon hearing the hydraulic hiss of the automatic doors, Yura turned his attention back to his phone. Beka strolled back over to lean beside him against the pump, and pulled the lid off a polystyrene cup to take a sip of coffee.

“Did you get anything for me?”

“You said you didn’t want anything.”

“I was testing to see how much you value our friendship, obviously.”

Otabek grunted good-humouredly, then dug around in his pocket to offer a small packet of mini pretzels.

“If this is how much you value us, then I fear for the longevity of our friendship.” Yura accepted the offering and prized open the bag. He fished a pretzel out for Otabek, who just leant over and took it with his mouth. “Ew-! What is this, a petting zoo?”

“It is now. And if you want your pony ride home, you’ll keep it up with that pretzel service.”

“Gross.” Yura snorted, but held out another pretzel anyway.

Beka swiped the pretzel away in his teeth, grinning. 

“Neigh.” Came the deadpan impression, and Yura guffawed and flicked a broken piece of pretzel at the other. They both watched as it hit the front of his jacket, then fall with a tiny plop into the coffee. Beka’s face fell.

“That’s gross.”

“So are you. Hurry up and drink it. I’m getting cold.”

“You could have come inside with me for a bit, you know. It was warm in there.”

“Could have.” He shrugged, taking the cup and handing the packet in its place.

Instead of eating more, Beka rolled up the bag and leant over, tucking it into Yura’s pocket.

“You can finish those, if you want.” Otabek nodded to the coffee cup as well, reaching to pick up his helmet from where he had left it on the seat. 

Taking a sip, Yura made a face. It was too sweet and dark for his liking, so he passed it back..

“Why do you have to take your coffee so weird? What is that, five sugars?”

“Three,” he knocked the rest back, shuddering at the pretzel mush left in the bottom of the cup.

“Do you even like coffee? All that sugar just takes away from the flavour.”

“I do. I just like it sweet.” Beka buckled his helmet once he had crumpled the cup and thrown it into the bin next to the fuel pump.

Swinging his leg over the bike, Otabek looked back at Yura, waiting for him to get on. Following suit, he jammed his helmet back on and hopped on, getting comfortable while the bike came to life. Once set he tapped Beka’s sides, and they were off yet again.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry about the wait on this one! I feel like now that I'm back at work my update schedule will be every other Tuesday :)

Forcing himself to the car was a small form of torture. Yuuri felt like he was either about to throw up or cry, and he couldn't for the life of him figure out which would be worse. The morning hadn't been the easiest- he could only manage a small mouthful of the eggs Viktor had ordered him from the little hotel cafe, and he had already broken down crying once when he went to pull on his jeans and found he had put on weight again. Viktor, of course, had been no less gracious and loving, but that had only made Yuuri feel worse. The only thing his thoughts seemed to scream at him was how much of a burden he was being.

By the time they had checked out, it was a little past noon. Yuuri had packed up their belongings while Viktor rearranged the room back to how they had found it, just to be on the safe side (the hotel staff seemed nice enough, but it was still Russia, after all). Upon arriving, Yuuri had pushed the two twin beds together to form a double. Every few days since Yuuri had taken his leave Viktor would stop by and stay the night, just to check in and make sure he was feeling okay.

Those nights were nice. It felt that the world couldn't touch them, then, and Viktor had said it almost felt like sneaking out as a kid again. It wasn't as if anyone would have missed him from his own home, but Yurio had been staying for the past week, and so Yuuri wondered what clever excuses Viktor had been employing for his absence. Although, he supposed it didn't really matter, now. The jig was up, and he was carrying the few belongings he hurriedly packed back to the car. Casting a furtive glance to check nobody was watching, they both leant in for a quick peck on the lips. Yuuri was then just about to walk to the passenger side of the car when Viktor stopped him.

"Yuuri…" Viktor's hand was on his shoulder, and he slowly looked up to make eye contact.

For a second, Viktor just studied him, brow furled and searching for something. He clearly didn't find whatever it was he was looking for, so he sighed and took both of Yuuri's hands.

"Is this a good idea," Viktor asked quietly, "taking you home?"

"What do you mean?"

"You seem so tense. Do you not want to leave?"

"What? No, I have to go back. I've already been away for too long." Yuuri could hear how quickly he was protesting, and how painfully insincere his words sounded. He supposed he more was trying to convince himself, rather than Viktor, that he was okay. Viktor was having none of it.

"Listen, Yuuri, if you need more time-"

"No, I've…" he started, but then couldn't find the gumption to finish.

"What do you want to do?" The question was gentle, but resigned.

Stomach twisting, Yuuri looked away, but before he could mumble a response, they heard the hotel doors clunk open. He looked over as Yurio and Otabek stepped into the cold.

Viktor waved them over, and called out a question as they approached. Yuuri felt his heart steadily sinking at the thought of going back to St Petersburg, but knew he couldn't keep everyone from where they needed to be. Regardless, he sure as well wasn't going to let everyone down like that again. He knew he could do better.

A few words were exchanged between them, and Yuuri heard himself chime into the conversation. After that point he stopped paying any real attention, and just stared at his feet in the residual grey slush beside Viktor's car. A light brush on his arm from Viktor brought him back to hear goodbyes being exchanged.

"Alright, so, see you at yours, I guess." Yura muttered, and Viktor moved his hand to open up the passenger door for Yuuri.

Once sat, Yuuri pulled off his shoes and tucked his feet up on the seat, getting comfortable before Viktor got in himself. The soft top on the car had offered little protection from the cold, so he shivered and boosted the heating. The car hadn't been one of Viktor's smartest purchases, but he was at least talked down from buying the new Mazda he'd had his eye on.

Looking back as they pulled away, he waited for a break in Viktor's easy chatter before speaking.

"Do you think they'll be okay?"

"Hmm?" Viktor indicated to zip past a grit spreader.

"Yurio and Otabek. I didn't see if his bike has snow tyres or not."

"Ah, they'll be fine. They both got here in one place, didn't they?

"Yeah, you're right. I can't believe you forgot to tell him, though. I was gone a good week."

"Well, if I'm being honest, piglet, I wasn't sure if you wanted him to know."

"Please don't call me that right now." Yuuri winced, conscious of his little extra pouch of weight "But if it meant it would stop him worrying it would have been okay, Vitya."

There was a fond laugh.

"If I had told him, he probably would have stormed right over here and dragged you home after half an hour of checking in…!"

"You say that like it would have been a bad thing," Yuuri scoffed, "I wasn't exactly thinking straight. That probably would have done me more good than hiding myself away and stewing in self pity."

"Ah Yuuri, everybody needs a break once in a while." Viktor reached over and turned the heating down a little, the car adequately warm now.

"I know, but not with the Worlds so close." Yuuri's gaze was fixed on the road, trying to focus on the trees whipping past instead of the growing tightness in his chest. "Maybe I shouldn't compete? We still don't have anything for my free program-"

Viktor gently placed a hand in Yuuri's thigh, stopping him.

"Why are you worrying about that right now?" He took his hand back to take a sharp turn in the road, but then replaced it once they were on a relatively straight stretch.

"Why do you think?" Yuuri groaned, taking his husband's hand and kissing it. "I hate being so unprepared. And I really want to prove I can do this."

"Yuuri, you don't have to prove yourself to anyone. Everyone knows you're amazing."

"Hm." Yuuri chuckled. "Say that again?"

"Say what?"

"'Amazing'. I love how you say it."

"A- _mazing_!" Viktor obliged, then giggled. "You're so funny, Yuuri."

Yuuri grinned into his knees, the material of the borrowed sweats soft against his cheeks. Car rides always made him feel better, for some reason, especially with Viktor. He supposed it felt like nothing could get to them once the doors were closed, and it was a time where he had to do nothing but just _be_. There were no expectations in that space.

However, he still had his own self-expectations to battle with.

~•~

By the time they had reached the motorway, it had begun to snow again lightly. Yuuri must have dozed, for he jumped awake at the round of the windscreen wipers dragging against the glass.

"You better not have dribbled on my workout trousers," he heard.

"Be quiet," he mumbled, stretching an ache from his neck, "you always drop food down my shirts when you borrow them."

"Ah, but I can't help that! Sometimes the food is so good I need to share it with my shirts, too."

" _My_ shirts," Yuuri corrected, and leant over to fiddle with the radio, "never yours. How do you do that?"

"I think I'm just so attracted to you that the food in my mouth wants in on the action."

"That's disgusting," Yuuri laughed.

"Yes, but you still love me. And you're no saint- remember that time you spilt red wine on the silk one you borrowed from me?" Viktor sent him a sly grin.

"That was different, and you know it." A smile crept over his own face.

"Oh, it was?" Viktor played the innocent, and Yuuri swatted at his arm in reply.

"That was so good though," Viktor reminisced, "you were so hot, Yuuri."

"I'm always hot. Focus on the road, Vitya."

Bright pop flooded their ears as the radio clung onto a weak signal from the nearing city. Viktor tapped his thumb on the steering wheel in time to the beat, glancing over at the other every so often.

"What are you thinking?" Yuuri asked, catching the looks.

"Uh, two things," he admitted, "but they can wait."

"No, tell me," Yuuri pressed playfully.

"Mm. Business or pleasure first?"

"Business," Yuuri grimaced, "so long as you mean my free skate."

"Are you a mind reader? That's just what I was thinking about. Why not just something like this?" Viktor nodded at the radio, which had finally settled on the signal. "Just something fun. You haven't been enjoying the ice lately, and I think that's something we need to work on together."

Viktor had momentarily slipped into coach mode, his voice calm as he mulled over each word. When Yuuri offered no reply, he continued.

"You can't skate when you have no passion. You need something to drive you. I think that the short programme we have for you works well, because _I_ choreographed a large portion of it, and you like skating what I design for you." Viktor's eyes were soft, and Yuuri listened attentively. "So together, we need to find a routine and a piece of music that makes your heart sing the second you step back onto the ice."

Yuuri sat back in his seat, letting himself process. Viktor was right, especially about the short program. They had come up with the bare bones of that one very easily a small while before the Finals, already preparing for the next season. They had just been about to tackle refining it before Yuuri left. He wondered momentarily if he could even still manage half the routine they had planned, but told himself he was being ridiculous. He had only had a week off, if that, despite it being a week of nothing but comfort eating and sleeping.

"What do you think?" Viktor's gentle question snapped him back from his thoughts.

"I, yeah, I like that plan. I still don't know where to start, though."

"Ah, that's fine, Yuuri! I'm not too concerned about it today, anyway." Viktor waved a hand, as if swiping away that topic of conversation. "We have practise tomorrow, so we can just focus on it then while we get you back onto the ice."

Yuuri squirmed at the thought of going back to the rink so quickly, but nodded anyway. He wondered why Viktor wasn't insisting on hitting the gym first, like he had all those years ago, but with the first big competition of the season rapidly approaching he wasn't overly surprised. Time wasn't a luxury to hand, and he supposed Viktor would rather they got a routine down to pat than to spend extra hours body sculpting.

"So, what was the second thing?" Yuuri found himself asking.

"Oh! You just look really good in my sweatpants." Viktor chuckled, trying to pass himself off as being blasé. Yuuri knew there was more to it than that, though.

"That's not it," Yuuri crooked an eyebrow and sent him a sidelong glance, and Viktor laughed to cover up a blush.

"I just, wouldn't mind if you spilt red wine on those, too," Viktor hummed nonchalantly, flicking his long fringe back from his eyes with a toss of his head.

"You know," Yuuri replied slowly, surprising himself, "If we're quick getting home, we could have a good half hour before Yurio catches up with us."

Viktor checked the sat-nav nestled in the dashboard of his car, and Yuuri saw his eyes widen a little as his husband saw that he was right. They had made very good time, in part due to Viktor's penchant to speed. They both knew Otabek wouldn't dream of slipping over the speed limit, especially with Yurio as passenger.

Viktor swallowed, then grinned as he let the speed creep up just that little higher. Yuuri knew he shouldn't be so irresponsible to lead Viktor on like that. He had missed Viktor too, though, in more ways than one. He had snubbed him this morning at the hotel, despite his weak promise from the night before. Viktor didn't mind, he knew that for certain; it wasn't exactly the first time that Yuuri had felt too anxious to perform.

He trusted his husband's control of the car regardless, and settled back in his seat, watching the last fifty minutes of the drive count down on the sat-nav.


	5. Chapter 5

As they had expected, by the time Yura and Beka reached Viktor's apartment, the other two had been back for sometime. He had unlocked the door to Viktor chattering on facetime, sprawled on his sofa with Makkachin draped across his lap like a blanket. The faint sound of the shower hissing informed them of Yuuri's whereabouts.

Both he and Otabek pulled off their shoes before traipsing into the apartment, carrying their bags in with them. The plush carpet was warm and welcoming to Yura, who still felt stiff from the cold bike ride over. The change in temperature brought a small shiver to him.

" _Qui est-ce_?" Yura heard from the phone, and he made a face. Chris.

"Ah, Yurio and Otabek," Viktor happily replied, and tapped his phone screen to flip the camera so Chris could see. "Look! _Il a grandi, non_?"

" _Oui, comment beau_!" Chris giggled, and Yura held up a finger. That only made Chris laugh harder.

"Speak English when you're bitching about me," Yura grumbled in Russian, intending for only Viktor to hear. The sound of his voice only resulted in an excited gasp from the Swiss idiot on the other side of the phone.

"His _voice_! Viktor, it's so deep!" Chris babbled, and Yura grabbed Otabek's arm to start moving away from the source of attention. Chris obviously saw. "Oh, hello to Otabek, too! Don't think I forgot about you, dark and handsome."

"Chris, Otabek is spoken for," Viktor chastised, tapping his phone again, and Yura relaxed now that the camera was off him.

"I am?" Otabek frowned.

"Oh no, Little Yuri hasn't asked you, yet?" Chris lamented, and Viktor sniggered.

Yura yanked open the door to the spare room and pushed Beka in, who was struggling to keep a straight face.

"Stop being such a bitch, Viktor," Yura hissed from the doorway, momentarily switching to English so that Chris could hear.

"I didn't do anything!" Viktor pretended to be hurt. "It was all Chris. Stop being such a bitch, Chris!"

Deciding it would be better to not enter into it, Yura closed the door and left them to their raucous cackling. He flopped onto the bed, not even trying to miss Otabek, who had wrapped himself up in the duvet.

"Don't take my duvet," Yura complained, "I'm cold."

"I'm cold too." Beka replied, squirming out from under him. "What was Chris talking about?"

"Oh my _god_ , Beka," Yura groaned, irritated, "you know those two were just fucking about, right? Ever since we made friends it's been non-stop!"

"I think it's funny," Otabek grinned at him.

"Of course you do. You don't have to suffer through it every day." He scowled. "It's like they _want_ me to date you, to complete the circle of stupidity or something. Or they're just projecting. Just because I'm friends with those two idiots, it doesn't mean I'm gay by proxy."

"Oh. It's okay if you are, though."

"What?"

"Gay, I mean," Otabek pulled out his phone and started tapping away.

"What's that supposed to mean?" Yura felt himself flush, prickling a little. Otabek gave him a look.

"Nothing?" He replied slowly. "If that's who you are, it's who you are."

"Thank you, Mr. Pride," Yura rolled his eyes, and they both went quiet for a moment. "What about you, though?" he asked.

"What?"

"What do you _think_?" Yura nudged him, and it was Otabek's turn to blush.

"I don't- I've never really-," he cleared his throat, flustered. "It's not really talked about, back home."

"And it is here?" Yura found himself laughing, "You know on my documents I'm still down as the wrong gender? It's only by a thoroughly exploited loophole that I was allowed to compete in the male events."

"That's so stupid," Beka looked horrified.

"Yeah, well. It's something you get used to."

Sighing, he pulled his hair out from his face and into a messy ponytail. He was lying, of course. Seeing that ugly little 'F' on any of his documents felt like a blunt knife goring his insides out. Admittedly in the past few months since he was allowed finally to be prescribed his shots, dysphoria had been a little easier to deal with, but it didn't make it any less painful to be reminded that that was how some of the world still saw him.

Eventually, from the next room they heard the shower shut off, and then the opening and shutting of doors as Yuuri went to join Viktor in the front room.

"Did you want a shower?" He offered Beka, now that the bathroom was free.

"Won't Viktor mind?"

"Nah. Just go and ask if it makes you feel better."

"I will. You don't want one?"

"Have you seen how greasy my hair is? Of course I do. Just go first; I want to call Grandpa. He'll want to know we've found the pig."

Otabek wriggled his way free of the blankets and padded over to the door. Once the door had clicked shut, Yura moved himself into the space that Otabek had vacated and swathed himself up in the still-warm fabric. Pleasingly, he noted how a faint scent had lingered from where Otabek had been, not stopping himself from taking a small sniff. It was comforting, and something that he definitely found himself missing more recently in the months between their visits. He smelt sweet, like old leather, with the slightest hint of spice. Burying his face into the duvet, he let out a contented sigh, then caught himself. What was he supposed to be doing again?

Grumbling at himself as he dug out his phone, he tapped at his screen, pulling up his grandpa's contact. He had dropped him a quick text the night before, but he felt bad for not calling and letting him know what was happening properly.

The phone rang a few times, before his grandpa picked up.

" _Allo_?" The line was a little patchy.

" _Dedushka_ ," Yura greeted, "hi. Sorry, I said I'd call last night. Did you get my text?"

"I did. Where are you now?"

"Ugh. Viktor's," Yura scoffed, "I think we're staying the night here."

"Ah, that sounds like fun. That's good; you've been working too hard again, Yuratchka."

"I've been careful," he dismissed his grandpa's concern. "Did you see the video from yesterday?"

"Yes, you were very graceful. Who did the filming? Your friend?"

"Oh, who, Otabek?" Yura laughed, "Yeah, he never stops videoing me when he's rink side. He thought you'd like to see what we're working on."

"Such a considerate boy! Will you two be visiting while he's here?"

"Oh, I actually forgot to ask! Can I stay for a few days next week? Like, on Monday."

"With him?"

"Well, yes, Grandpa. He'd like to see you again."

"I will make sure to cook something special. You'll be on the train?"

"Yeah, we will, but you don't need to worry about food. We'll probably order something in-"

"No, your friend deserves something special. He does a lot for you," his grandpa pointed out, but he had an ulterior motive. Yura knew his grandpa liked to make any excuse to cook for him. "Don't worry, Yuratchka; the day after, you can order in, okay?"

"Okay." He found himself rolling his eyes, smiling. "I'm going to go now. Pet the cats for me, Grandpa."

"They're already purring from hearing your voice. I will see you both soon."

"Love you, Grandpa. I'll see you soon."

He hung up the phone, then rolled onto his back, staring about the room. To call it a spare room was more a politeness towards Viktor and Yuuri than anything else. It was unspoken, but they all knew that it had become Yura's bedroom for when he came to stay. That had become an increasing regularity, he had found, since Yuuri had moved over from Japan. Nobody really understood why that was, but it had probably been from where the three would routinely stay up too late watching movies to be able to catch a bus home. Getting a lift was never an option- Yuuri still hadn't learnt to drive and Viktor would always fall asleep before the movies were over, and so now here he was.

It was a nice change from when he used to live with Lillia and Yakov, admittedly. He could shuffle about and not get a scolding ( _A prima ballerina should be light on her feet! Pick yourself up this instant!_ ). He definitely did not miss the barrage of female pronouns, either. For such a vibrant duo, staying with Viktor and Yuuri was a surprisingly relaxing affair. He supposed it was down to the fact that he could be as moody as he liked, and the two would simply take it in their stride and end up making him laugh, albeit begrudgingly. Nothing could beat when he used to live with grandpa, though.

For years, Yura had to constantly switch between houses to accommodate his parents' work schedules. His father, a busy casting agent, had rarely any time to spare for his son. His mother had a little more, especially after she retired, but with the amount of chat shows and memoirs she would be pulled into it still wasn't enough. They had divorced long before Yura was old enough to ever remember them being together, and so swapping between parents was as normal to him as it was to swap a pair of shoes. Eventually, his grandpa had stepped in and took on guardianship, and Yura knew that was one of the best things to happen to him. His life felt more stable, and he was able to focus more on things that he liked. It had helped him to get a good start in skating, and find even ground below his feet, until he had to move from Moscow to St Petersburg. He had always felt a surge of pride whenever his mother had the time to take an interest in his skating, but he knew he would never trade that for the unconditional support his grandpa offered.

That made him think back to what his grandpa had said about Otabek. The last forty eight hours or so had been a bit of a whirlwind of events. Barely twelve hours before they had ridden off to drag Yuuri home, Otabek's plane had touched down. He had ended up with a late flight that got him into the airport during the early hours, and he had immediately hired out a bike to drive straight over to Yura's shared flat. Poor Beka only had a few hours sleep before they headed to practise that day, and then of course their spur of the moment road trip was undertaken. He considered taking the day off tomorrow, but then he had already skipped today, and Yakov was expecting him to become even more of a model student than ever- needless to say Yura had earned a spot representing Russia in the upcoming Olympics. Since having come third and then second to Yuuri and Viktor during the last two finals, his determination and Yakov's had increased tenfold.

Rolling over to get off the bed, he realised he owed Otabek a thank you, and also maybe an apology for dragging him into drama almost the second he had stepped foot on Russian soil.

~•~

The rest of the evening panned out well, and by the time they had eaten dinner, Yura could feel himself ready to call it a night. Viktor had made a very hearty meal that he _insisted_ was just made up of the things he had found in the fridge, but it still tasted amazing. Yura's version of I-just-threw-it-together was generally a snagged handful of three day old salad leaves stuffed into lunch box with whatever salad toppers he could find; both he and his flat mates were either too busy or tired to really do any good food shopping. At least his lunches were good on practise days. Viktor and Yuuri would often bring him a little something, and at first Yura thought it was their way of being passive aggressive, their actions suggesting they thought he couldn't take care of himself. He, of course, eventually came to the understanding that they brought him lunches just because it was something they liked to do.

With a satisfyingly full stomach, Yura felt his eyes threatening to get heavier. They had all sat down to watch a movie together, but he had been too focused on not falling asleep that he hadn't really tuned in. Everyone in the room laughed at a running gag he didn't remember well enough to understand, so he gave up and slumped against Otabek, nestling in so his head rested against his friend's shoulder.

"Comfy?" Beka asked, adjusting a little to take the weight.

"Mm."

He glanced over to the other two, noting that Viktor was beginning to doze, too. His head was resting in Yuuri's lap, and the latter of which was absentmindedly brushing a hand through the silver mop of hair. Yura allowed himself to relax a little, not having to worry about receiving one of Viktor's comments about him and Otabek. It wasn't as if the comments weren't misplaced- personal space had never really been something Yura and Beka were particularly wary of. Lately, though, the quips had been really getting under Yura's skin. He couldn't put his finger on why.

A yawn dragged its way out of his mouth, squeezing pinpricks of tears from the corners of his eyes, and causing everything to blur.

"Ah, don't," he heard Yuuri murmur from the other end of the sofa, "you'll set me off, too."

"Don't tell me what to do," Yura shot back, "I'll yawn all I like. I still haven't forgiven you."

"Whatever shall I do." Yuuri's response was dry.

"Pig." Yura yawned again.

Yuuri laughed softly and moved to stuff a pillow under Viktor's head. Viktor had probably started to drool in his sleep from being on his front. The ring on Yuuri's hand glinted in the light from the TV, and Yura felt a pang of jealously. Those two were never afraid to be themselves, even in the face of the political climate they lived in. It was a dangerous world to be married in, even if their marriage certificate didn't have any more legal bearing than a shopping list here. Things like that were more of a political statement when made public, and Yura supposed that was why the two hadn't taken on each other's surname yet. There was also an undeniably huge element of safety involved in that decision.

Yura thought back to his earlier conversation with Otabek. He hadn't really allowed himself to think about himself in terms of sexuality for a long time, finding it easier to keep his head down and pretend that dating wasn't a thing. He had the awful disadvantage of no matter who he dated, the media would manage to demonise him regardless, and no amount of romance in his life was worth that. The hate he received for being trans was enough on its own.

The end of the film was drawing closer and Yura couldn't keep his eyes open any longer. This time, he gave into it and let himself snooze, and was eventually tapped awake as the end credits began to roll.

At his request, the two of them left Yuuri to turn off the TV and untangle himself from his prone husband. Otabek was struggling to hold back a yawn as they both slouched to Yura's bedroom, and by the time they had gotten ready for bed properly the two of them could have easily fallen asleep standing up.

They ended up topping and tailing in Yura's bed in the spare room, or at least trying to. Normally Yura would have pulled out an air bed for Otabek to sleep on, like they had back at his flat, but Viktor and Yuuri only tended to prepare for one extra guest. This left sharing a bed as their only option besides one of them being banished to the sofa, a notion neither of them were a big fan of. After months of not seeing each other it felt weird when they stayed in separate bedrooms, instead preferring to camp out in the same room so they didn't miss any time together. Despite this, it was still an uncomfortable position for them to lay in- Otabek was still miles taller than Yura, and so either his feet poked out from under the duvet, or the duvet would drape over Yura's face. Huffing fabric out of his mouth for a third time, Yura thought about how topping and tailing only ever seemed to work when you were both young and the same height. Not that he'd ever had a friend to sleep over and do this with in his youth.

It couldn't have been more than ten minutes that they were trying to sleep before a thought popped into Yura's head, and he snorted out a tired laugh.

"What is it?" Otabek mumbled.

"Do you know what this is like?"

"What?"

"Two guys chilling in a hot tub but five feet apart 'cause they're not gay."

The sheets rustled and Otabek sat up to peer at Yura through the darkness.

"What?" He repeated, confused.

"You don't remember that Vine?"

"No. What is it?" He moved over to Yura's side of the bed.

"Here," Yura leant over the edge of the bed to pick up his phone from where he left it to charge.

Otabek squinted at the bright screen in Yura's hand while he brought up YouTube and held it so they could both see.

"Oh, I see," He laughed.

"Two bros in a bed, feet in each others faces 'cause they're not gay." Yura chortled in a half-whisper, locking the phone and putting it away.

"Yura, please," Otabek placed his pillow down next to the other, getting the hint, "topping and tailing was your idea."

"I thought it would be less awkward, okay?"

"We're friends," Otabek reminded him, getting comfortable again, "I think you waking up to a foot in your mouth would be much weirder than us facing the same way."

The bed was a little narrow, so his face was closer to Yura's than he had expected.

"Whatever," he turned around so that their noses wouldn't bump, "I'm going to sleep now."

"Okay. Goodnight, Yura."

The bed shifted as Otabek got comfortable, and once he had stopped fidgeting, Yura moved so that he slotted into the space left. Their backs were flush to each other, and the warmth radiating from the other was surprisingly comforting. He found himself sinking a little more into it, wriggling to nestle a shoulder between Otabek's back and his pillow. The contact felt nice, grounding. A small thought in the back of his mind noted how little physical contact Yura allowed himself to have with people. There was another movement, and Yura was not unpleasantly surprised when Otabek turned over and slipped an arm across him, encircling him in a hug.

"You're not subtle at all." Otabek's voice was muffled against the back of Yura's head. He laughed.

"Neither are you. Are we going to sleep now?"

"I hope so. You've set the alarm, right?"

"I can't believe you would doubt me like this, Beka." he felt his words fumbling thick in his mouth as tiredness took full hold of his mind.

As he eventually drifted off, lulled by the warmth and the gentle rhythm of Otabek's breathing, he couldn't help but notice how his mind had stilled. The sensation of calm harkened his thoughts to his dream from the night before, and lying there in the dark, Otabek's arms around him, Yura wondered if this was what his mind had been describing to him. He had woken up before he could experience the end of the dream, and there was the tiniest hint of curiosity about that rolling in the forefront of his mind, but ultimately he knew it didn't matter.

_Falling isn't so bad_ , he thought to himself. His mind tumbled back into the darkness, and soon he was asleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A few tag updates and a rating change! Still not sure of the overall direction of this fic in terms of, y'know, hankypanky. I know this seems out of the blue compared to the atmosphere of this chapter, but this is for future chapters…! So I've just upped the rating just in case that ends up being a thing later on ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯ who knows. It probably won't due to character dynamics and also my comfort level, but I'd rather be safe than sorry! I can always pull it back down to a T when I've finished the whole thing :)
> 
> Now for the real notes:
> 
> The train in reference between Yurio and his Grandpa is the bullet train that runs between Moscow and St Petersburg- it cuts a ten hour drive down to a three/four hour train ride for like, £70-£90 each :)
> 
> Dedushka: granddad but y'all probably got that anyway
> 
> And on Yurio's dad- i just made the details up about him since he's not really touched on in the anime ^^; I just went with a career that leaves you very little time to have a personal life but would still be putting him in the situation where he could have a fling and have a child :^) I'd imagine it would be a strenuous job and would result in understandable grounds for a divorce,,,,, I love headcanons and distant fathers.....
> 
> Please as always keep it up with the kudos and comments! They really help to motivate me to get out the next chapter to you all! See you all in two weeks :)


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this took so long, guys! I feel like I should offer some explanation as to why this update is so late, but alas, I have none other than life sometimes gets in the way :,) I hope you all enjoy!

The morning air was brisk and unwelcoming, but did little to snap Yuuri into a present state of mind. Since he had woken, anxiety had been gnawing at the edges of his mind, and by trying to tune that out he had ended up shutting himself off completely. At least he had the morning to himself before he had to head to the rink, even if he felt time passing too quickly for his liking.

Viktor had left earlier than usual that morning, taking Otabek and Yurio with him. Yuuri had been awake since then, unable to get back to sleep once the bed was empty. He had found himself floating about the apartment, picking up the odd chore that had been left while he had been away.

To no surprise, the dishes had indeed piled up over the week, but they took Yuuri hardly any time at all to scrub clean. The only reason Viktor dodged them was because he hated the way the dish soap dried up his skin, but in return he was always in charge of the laundry. Smiling to himself, Yuuri remembered the first time he had put a load through the washing machine with Viktor there: Viktor nearly passed out with stress when he found out Yuuri had tumble dried a silk shirt in with all the regular laundry. It was now an unspoken rule that Yuuri wasn't allowed near the washing machine anymore.

The rest of the jobs had been simple things, like picking up the odd pair of shoes and bundling dirty clothes into the laundry hamper for Viktor to sort through. He tried to brave tidying up Yurio's room, but took one step in there and decided to close the door and forget about the mess. A part of him wondered if they would ever get that room back as a spare, but that would be a fool’s errand. The boy practically lived with them now.

After doing what he could to the apartment, the last job that really needed to be done was take Makkachin for a walk. Despite being so old, Makka still managed to trot along faster than Yuuri. The dog kept walking forward then looking back every few paces, hinting at Yuuri to pick up the pace.

The brisk air was at least good for something, as it was causing Yuuri's mind to focus on something other than how practise would go later. Shivering, he swung his arms a few times, trying to increase his circulation. The whole point of him walking Makka was to warm him up gently before his jog to the rink, but all it was doing was making him resent the cruel Russian winters.

They reached the park and Makkachin joyfully loped into the frosted grass as quick as his old legs could carry him. There was a group of pigeons congregating around some dropped food, and Yuuri had to jog after him to make sure it was the birds and not the crumbs that Makka was making a beeline for.

“Makkachin, _ostav’_ ,” he called, stern, as the dog gave whatever it was a cursory sniff. Makka looked up, thought for a second, then trotted off again.

They didn't stay for too long, just until Makkachin had found a suitable spot for his business. That was always the signal to head home. Slinging the doggy bag into the bin as they passed, Yuuri shivered again, a cruel gust of wind picking it's way past his coat.

By the time they got pack to the apartment, Makkachin was panting happily, and all Yuuri wanted to do was slink into the bedroom and hide. _I could just text Viktor_ , he thought, _tell him I got sick, or pulled a muscle._

Makka was waiting by the door and Yuuri pulled out his keys, his mind an awful cacophony of muffled thoughts. He pushed open the door and Makka funneled past him, between his leg and the doorframe, then sat by the shoe rack waiting. Yuuri grabbed the towel from where they kept it behind the door. He wiped the icy mud off from Makka’s paws before it got trodden into the carpet, and got doggy kisses on the cheek in return, before Makkachin plodded over to the dog bed.

Yuuri didn't bother moving from the front door, watching the now sleeping dog. A small part of him wondered how much time Makkachin had left. He dispelled that thought, instead grabbing his bag and heading out the door. Both he and Viktor hated leaving Makkachin alone in the house, now, even if for a few hours.

His mind began skipping from thought to thought as he left the apartment grounds, swinging his arms loosely and pulling his legs one by one into stretches. It was a good twenty minute jog to the rink, which was a breeze on a good day, but Yuuri still wasn't sure what kind of a day he was having yet.

He could still send that text. He had time. Viktor would understand, right? He forced one foot forward, then another, picking up a rhythm until his blood was pumping and the wind was biting at his face. Starting off was always the worst, but by the time he had reached the rink his lungs had a healthy burn in them and his head felt a good deal clearer.

Thankfully, as he signed in he saw nobody that he knew, presuming that the rest of the rabble had already headed home. It wasn't as if he didn't want to see everyone again, but the thought of having to face an especially large group of bright personalities would probably have been too much for him to handle. He made his way through the corridor to the rink side, following an echoing hush of music. Once through the double doors, he could hear the light melody of strings, and the whisper of skates across the ice. It was only a small practise rink, but Viktor was making good use of the space. Yuuri watched from the side, as the late morning light streamed in through the windows, and Viktor picked out a lighthearted step sequence before using that momentum to slide into a toe loop. It was only a double, but Viktor made it look effortless, as he always did. The lack of serious gusto told Yuuri that he was still choreographing, planning out what should go where. His face was a picture of serene concentration, the sunlight glinting from his hair and the light sheen of sweat dotted across his brow. Yuuri saw the twinkle in his husband's eye as he spotted him watching, moving into a spread eagle and shooting over a wink. He was showing off, now, sliding to prepare for another jump, building momentum before skipping into a neat jump combination. It was moments like these where Yuuri counted himself the luckiest man alive, and when the music ended and Viktor skated over to greet him, he leant over the barrier and pulled him into a hug.

“Did you like that?” Viktor pressed a kiss to his forehead.

“I like everything you do,” Yuuri answered, handing Viktor a bottle of water. “What was it?”

“Possibly the bare bones for your free skate,” he took a swig, the bottle crinkling in his hands, and Yuuri's stomach twisted suddenly as he remembered why he was here. “I'm still not sure about the music, though. And did you notice how close that jump combination was to the end? It's something not _outside_ of your ability, but only at your peak. So we definitely have some work to do.”

Yuuri murmured in affirmation as Viktor moved off to where he had left his skate guards, stepping out of the small gate. He heard them clinking at Viktor made his way over, then took a seat on one of the benches, leaving room for Yuuri to sit. The stereo was still on, and the next track that came on was quicker in tempo than the other, but still with the same flouncing dynamic. An allegro, maybe? Perhaps allegretto. Yuuri still didn't understand half the music terms Viktor liked to throw around.

As he sat down beside him, Yuuri watched as he flipped open his notebook to a page he had bookmarked with a photo that had been taken last summer, when they had gone back to Hasetsu to visit Yuuri's family. Minako had found the two of them huddled in the corner of her bar after a particularly a busy night, drunk but still drinking. Viktor was sprawled across Yuuri's lap and singing along loudly and terribly to each song that came on, the two of them giggling away raucously. Yuuri liked the photo for how startled the infallible Viktor Nikiforov was by the flash, and Viktor liked it for how she had caught Yuuri mid laugh. Viktor printed it after she had posted it onto their Facebook timeline. Looking down at it, Yuuri felt a little stab of emotion. Viktor could talk about Yuuri's skating peak all he liked, but it was carefree times like those where Yuuri knew life couldn't get any better.

“Yuuri, are you listening?” Yuuri looked up, and Viktor smiled fondly.

“Yes,” he lied.

“So, as I was saying,” Viktor raised an eyebrow and clicked the top of his pencil, lengthening the nib, “I don't want to overload you today, so we'll work on something simple. How confident are you feeling?”

“Not very,” Yuuri admitted.

Viktor nodded, mulling over a plan. His gaze scanned over the sequence they had written for Yuuri's short program, then he folded the book closed around his pencil.

“Okay. I was hoping to make adjustments today, but I think we should see where you are with what we have first.”

They got to work, then. Viktor pulled Yuuri through some stretches, then left him to pull on his skates while he queued up a different playlist. Yuuri stood, and stared at the rink with trepidation. The wintery sun had gone in, now, and the allure of the area was gone. It just looked dead, unwelcoming. Yuuri felt his chest tightening, and his limbs felt disconnected and heavy as he fumbled at his skate guards.

“Are you ready?” Viktor's voice rang out from the centre of the rink. Yuuri hadn't noticed him move from the stereo, so it took him a second to process.

“Um, yes,” he took his first, tentative step onto the ice. He reluctantly took off his glasses, leaving them beside his guards, then moved to stand in front of Viktor. All of a sudden he felt too exposed, out in the centre like that. Underneath it all he couldn't help but feel a flash of annoyance at how irrational he was being.

“You're so stiff,” Viktor tutted, already analysing. “Let's see…”

Yuuri chewed on his lip as Viktor skated around him in a pensive circle. In a heartbeat, Viktor took one of Yuuri's hands and coaxed him into a spin, and despite himself, Yuuri laughed.

“ _That's_ better.” Yuuri's ears pricked to the warmth flooding into Viktor's voice.

Viktor hadn't turned on the music yet, so instead they found their own interpersonal tempo. It was a familiar one, born of their affection. Usually they only skated together at the end of a session, but Yuuri felt himself beginning to relax, and so decided that to be the reason Viktor was willing to start with it today.

They spun again, Yuuri feeling a grin charm it's way across his cheeks. Viktor's eyes sparkled with mischief as he moved Yuuri into a dip, hand at the nape of Yuuri neck as they sunk lower, gliding in a tight loop to avoid the edge of the rink. Yuuri felt a healthy tension in his core, reflexively keeping him balanced. With firm but gentle hands, Viktor guided Yuuri's torso so that they were both in an arabesque, and muscle memory gently coerced it's way through Yuuri’s body as he heard the music begin to play. There was a ripple in his peripheral vision, and Yuuri looked to his side to catch sight of their reflection against the glass of the windows as they glided past.

“Leg a little higher Yuuri,” Viktor was encouraging in his ear. “Good, good, like that. Now,” he moved his hand from Yuuri’s waist and slipped away, “you know where to go from here. I want you to focus on the _feeling_ , not the components.”

Yuuri nodded, moving into his starting position, missing the comfort of his husbands hand on his waist. He needed to focus. There was a tiny beep as Viktor clicked the stereo remote in his pocket, skipping to the next track.

Delicate piano now hung in the air, and memory moved Yuuri’s body more than motivation. Viktor always interwove a story into his routines, and this one he had composed was no different. Despite this, Yuuri knew he would struggle with the emotive focus of today's session, and so prayed that the facade he was about to cast would be enough to fool Viktor.

They had chosen to modify an older routine of Viktor’s, one that he had never taken to tournament. It was originally meant to be a piece based on a folk tale that Viktor regaled from his childhood, and when they first had chosen to develop it, Yuuri remembered being all for it. Together they had managed to add their own personal spin to the story, but now that he was actually skating it he found himself losing the personal tie he originally believed himself to have. Yuuri understood the narrative well enough, it was just that he was having a hard time envisaging himself in any of the characters.

“Yuuri, you're slowing up,” Viktor called as he moved into a spin, “Move your weight a little more- you know you can do this.”

Yuuri blindly followed the instruction, shifting his core to build up speed. He had just reached the end of a spin combination, and once he left his beillmann he used the swing of his leg coming down to gain momentum into an approach for a flip. His entrance was undeniably strong, a fact he felt despite not truly connecting to the routine. On his landing however he over-rotated, and his skate slid from under him. Victor darted to one side to avoid being bowled over, then was instantly back at Yuuri’s side to help him get back up.

“I'm fine, I can manage myself,” Yuuri protested, but still took hold of the outstretched arm anyway. His left thigh was tingling from where it had slapped into the ice, and his hip was definitely sore. Falls like this were a common occurrence, however, so Yuuri brushed it off alongside the flakes of ice that had accumulated on his side.

He turned to look at Viktor, awaiting instructions on what to do next. He felt himself cringe inwardly when he saw that calculating expression plastered across Viktor's face.

“Do you not like the routine?” The question was blunt, but without malice behind it. It seemed Viktor was weighing up options.

“I do, Viktor, honestly,” he tested his weight on his left leg, relieved when he wasn't met with unexpected pain. “I'm just… struggling with the feeling.”

Viktor nodded, and ran a hand through his silvery hair as he thought. The music still jingled in the background, an absurd juxtaposition for the eddying stress Yuuri could feel prickling under his skin. When Viktor turned back, his expression was no longer the one of deep thought that accompanied him through their sessions on the ice.

“Shall we call it a day, then?” He asked, poorly masking concern behind his question, but Yuuri shook his head.

“I want to give it another go, if that's okay.”

There was a small flicker of pride behind Viktor’s eyes that made Yuuri's chest swell as he took his starting position again. That was good.

At least Viktor wasn't starting to get sick of watching him butcher what should be a beautiful routine.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, please don't hesitate to let me know any corrections for mistakes! Any feedback is always appreciated <3 Until next time!


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